


spectrum

by betharue



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Light Angst, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6015859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betharue/pseuds/betharue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are white and she is black and together you make a very pretty shade of grey, you think./You are black and white and she is rainbow, bursting at the seams with color.</p><p>A matter of perspective.  Previously titled grey area.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. grey area

**Author's Note:**

> annabeth/drew is a Concept

Your name is Drew and you are white. You aren’t white as in European, but if you had to assign a color to your soul and your heart and your brain, it would be white. White is the color of apathy. White is the color of blinding pain and the color of nothingness. There is no passion in white. White relies on other color to make itself seen because white knows deep down that it doesn’t matter. It exists solely to make other color lighter and brighter. White is useless on its own. Nobody ever says that their favorite color is white, and nobody ever says that you’re their favorite person. You are Drew Tanaka and you are a white dot in a sea of color.

You see her every day, that Annabeth girl. You can’t miss her. She’s the Alpha Female of the camp and everyone knows it. She knows it, too, but she’s not mean because of it. You would be, but Annabeth is the complete antithesis of you, so it doesn’t surprise you that she acts so different. Black hair vs blonde hair, brown eyes vs grey eyes, bad girl vs good girl. If you were to assign her a soul color, a heart color, a brain color, it would be black. Black is the antithesis to white. Black is dark and mysterious. Black elicits emotions, emotions like passion and pain and fear and awe. Black is sexy and sleek. It’s always in style. Lots of people like black, and even those who don’t appreciate its qualities. Black stands out. It doesn’t need other colors, it swallows up inferior colors so that you can’t even tell they were there. Black is dynamic. Black is power. Yes, black fits the Annabeth girl very well. And you know what happens to white when it touches black, how it turns to grey. Grey is a dead man’s color, and you avoid it. 

But you don’t have to worry about mixing with the Annabeth girl anyways, because she’s already made up her mind about you. She would never tell you to your face because she’s far too polite, but she thinks you’re as snobby and selfish and vain as you pretend to be. That’s good, because you have a reputation to maintain. She watches you carefully apply mascara to your pretty, pretty face while everyone else plays capture the flag and she sneers. You look up and meet her gaze. Her eyes are grey, grey like boredom and indecision, but she’s neither of those things as she brandishes her sharp dagger and cuts straight through the armor of some poor Apollo kid. She’s careful enough to not draw blood, but she could’ve if she wanted to. She just would’ve had to press the tiniest bit harder, just a little bit deeper. She has so much power. You look away and continue applying your makeup.

You don’t know when it starts to bother you that the Annabeth girl never pays you any attention. You thrive off attention. You make sure that you get it whenever you need it. But you never needed her attention before. Now you crave it. She walks past you while chatting with one of her siblings (they aren’t black, they’re in color and it’s boring) and you flirt with one of her brothers. Matthew, Micheal, something that starts with an M. He’s helpless. You mold in him your hands like clay. You’re white and he’s yellow and you’ve just turned him into a pastel. But you don’t care about this boring boy, you care about her. And she’s ignoring you. Rolling those grey eyes at your antics. You’re about to charmspeak her into just looking at you when she grabs her brother’s arm and walks away. You decide then to hate her.

But you can’t. Not really. Not when you blush every time you see her smile and you find yourself trying to count her freckles (you didn’t even know that she had freckles, but once you started staring at her they were hard to miss). She appears in your dreams sometimes. The happy ones, the bad ones, the sexual ones. You start to notice that your siblings all talk about her a lot. Lacy just worships her, constantly going on about how cool and great she is and blah, blah, blah. Mitchell thinks she’s the nicest person he’s ever met. One day they start talking about how iconic her Yankee’s cap is and you just charmspeak them into shutting the hell up so you can get some peace.

She’s crying when you find her. It’s been a month since Percy left and she’s heartbroken. She sits by the dock and buries her head in her hands and cries like a damn baby. A part of you is satisfied. The Great and Mighty Annabeth Chase, bawling her eyes out because she misses her boyfriend. But another part of you, the part that likes her, feels bad. You don’t like the feeling of indecision. That’s grey, not white. Grey can’t decide whether it’s white or black and you don’t need that kind of confusion in your life. You can’t make fun of her because she’s Annabeth, and she will hurt you if you do. So you decide to just walk away and pretend like you didn’t see her.

“Are you ok?” you hear yourself ask. She whirls her head around and you can see that her entire face is red and splotchy. When you cry, you make sure that it’s pretty and delicate and easily cleaned up afterwards. Antithesis. 

“I’m fine,” Annabeth says, although she is obviously not fine. She furiously rubs her face to dry the tears and you want to tell her that that’s bad for your skin, but you don’t think girls like Annabeth care about things like that. 

“Can I um...do anything?” you ask. It feels weird, offering to help people. You wouldn’t have done if it had been anyone else.

“No. It’s fine. I’m fine,” she insists. She’s usually a good liar, but she’s too emotional to deceive anyone right now. Black is a very emotional color. So you shock her and yourself by going over to sit next to her. Your feet dangle over the edge of the dock and you vaguely remember that this is where Percy and Annabeth kissed for the first time.

“Do you want to talk or…”

“It’s ok,” she says, sniffling and wiping her nose. “I know you’re not a fan of this kind of stuff.”

“No, it’s ok. Really. You can talk to me,” you say, adding a little charmspeak. And with that it all comes pouring out of her. Her first kiss with Percy. Her first date with Percy. How she felt when Percy left. How much she misses Percy. How great Percy is and Percy, Percy, Percy. You never really had a strong opinion of the guy, except maybe that he was cute, but now you’re sure that you hate him. You hate him because he gets to be with Annabeth and then he just leaves her all alone. Percy is blue. You hate blue. 

When she’s done she looks exhausted, like every word she spoke sucked the energy right out of her. “Oh gods, I can’t believe I just told you all of that,” she says, and you’re a little hurt. She notices the expression on your face and tries to apologize. “No, I just mean that you’re kind of a gossip. Wait, no, that’s not what I meant.” She starts to fumble over her words in embarrassment and you find it a little funny. Flawless Annabeth, Perfect Annabeth, Stone Cold Annabeth is easily flustered.

“I won’t tell anyone,” you say. “I promise.” You actually mean this and you must look pretty convincing because she nods and stands up. She offers you her hand and you take it. She pulls you up and you see hard, thick muscle flex in her arm when she moves it. It’s not unattractive. 

“Thank you, Drew,” she says. She’s being sincere, you can tell from the look in her grey eyes. Grey is uncertainty and fear, but it’s also hope.

From there, you and the Annabeth girl are almost friends. You get her attention. She smiles at you. She no longer scoffs when she sees you putting on makeup. She invites you to talk with her and friends, and most people in camp are her friends. Nobody understands your new bond, but nobody wants to question Annabeth Chase. You spend time together. She tells you about Percy, and it hurts, but you laugh at the jokes and wrap an arm around her shoulder during the painful parts. You tell her about your mother, who you still call your mother even though you know the truth. You tell her about how she used to sing to you as a child and how she called you her little dove. She doesn’t spill your secrets and you, surprisingly, don’t spill hers. And it works. You work, together. Annabeth and Drew. Drew and Annabeth. Black and white. You start to think that grey may not be so flighty after all. Maybe it takes best traits from white and black and makes them even better.

Annabeth is the one who initiates the passionate side of your relationship. You don’t know why. Maybe she misses Percy. Maybe she just has an itch that needs scratching. You don’t care, to be honest, while you’re pinned down by her muscular arms and her hands are doing everything right in all the right places. Black is a very intense color, Annabeth is a very intense person, and everything she does is very, very  _ intense _ . The black mixes with the white and you see colors. When you’re done and blissed out and barely able to move, she buries her head in your shoulder and kisses you on the cheek. 

“You’re the best, Drew,” she says, and you’re a little bit surprised that she says your name instead of his but you’re not about to protest. You fall asleep together, but she’s always gone and back in her room by the time you wake up. You lock eyes during breakfast and she blushes. 

New demigods come. The blonde boy with the strange tattoo arrives, he’s grass green and you flirt with him because everyone expects you to and Annabeth doesn’t want people knowing that you two are together. You don’t mind being a dirty little secret, a little white lie. But you have to play your part. The girl and her friend arrive, too. Annabeth likes the girl, you can tell. She gives her a watered-down version of the look she gives you sometimes. The girl is bright orange and the boy is red like blood. Orange mixed with black makes mud. Mud doesn’t compare to grey, you tell yourself. new girl, she’s so pretty. So pretty and down to earth and smart and fierce and you start to feel inadequate and inferiority starts to creep in and you remember why you are white, because is worthless and awful and nobody likes white. You make fun of the girl, naturally. Annabeth makes you stop, also a part of her nature. But there’s usually some mirth when she chastises you. A challenge in her eyes, a quirk of her lips, an unspoken promise that you’ll pay for it later in other, more exciting ways once they’re alone. But you search her face and all you see is mild annoyance. She really does like this new girl that she barely knows. It’s the beginning of the end.

The boy is Roman. The girl is your sister. The other boy, well, you don’t pay attention to people like that. There’s a quest. You volunteer but the new girl wins again. The orange girl with her ugly hair and ugly clothes and pretty face that you hate. You’re glad when she leaves for the quest, but Annabeth isn’t. Something’s different when you’re together. Her touch isn’t as gentle and he doesn’t tell you her secrets and she’s just distant. You think that maybe you were too mean to that orange girl she likes, and you actually find yourself wanting to apologize to her when she comes back. You can’t go back to being just white, not when you now know black and grey. You can’t go back. You can’t be alone again. You wait for the orange girl to return so you can apologize. 

But black is also full of surprises. Black is endings and black is final, official. You doze off while she talks to you because you know that she hates that and you kind of want to see her suffer, but you catch “over” and “still be friends” and “I really do like you, Drew” and there’s other stuff, but you don’t care. White is apathy and you are a White Colored Girl. So you’re apathetic when Annabeth breaks off your relationship, which you aren’t sure if you can call a breakup because you aren’t sure if you were even dating. It’s only the sexual part she wants to end. Something about being reminded of how much she wants Percy back because of the new arrivals, you think. She says she’s sorry. She still wants to be your friend, she says. You ask her if you were ever really friends and she looks hurt. It’s satisfying. For a moment.

You’re not surprised when she’s chosen to leave for the quest. She’s Annabeth the Great and Powerful. She tries to say goodbye to you and you ignore her, which you later regret. On the day she leaves, you pull some random Ares girl aside after dinner—one with strong arms and blonde hair who doesn’t look anything like Annabeth but she’s close enough to satisfy you. It happens on the grass near the strawberry fields and you look up at the night sky and all you see is black. Black with white spots.

When the girl hits her mark and your vision starts to blur, it blends into a nice grey. 


	2. color scheme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are black and white and she is a rainbow, bursting at the seams with color.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wanted to write from annabeth's pov because i love her and i think she's very complicated

**red**

Your name is Annabeth Chase. You are sixteen years old. You were born in Virginia. Your mother is Athena, goddess of wisdom. You have curly blonde hair that you've heard is beautiful, but you don't have a strong opinion on it. Your eyes are grey like bullets and ball bearings and other metallic, unfeeling things. You have tan skin from always being outside—skin layered with thick scars from various battles that send a message to anyone who looks upon them: _I am dangerous_. You have blunt fingers and square toes. You have crooked teeth and chapped lips. You know that you aren't quite human because your mother is a goddess, that's something you are sure of. But even your human side isn't quite as human as it should be. Solder pumps in and out of your wire heart and fills your body with the coldness of metal. You are the robot girl, as some have called you behind your back when they think you're out of earshot. You spit iron shavings and cry—well, you don't cry actually. If you did though, drippings of silver would run down cold cheeks and harden into fine jewelry. You are cold. Your heart is battery-powered and your brain is electric. You are not soft or sweet but hard and bitter. You are a list of facts, a set of elements. You are black and white and you are ok(?) with this.

You were only twelve when you and Percy met. Twelve years old; that odd, awkward border line between being a child and a teenager, the latter being just an awkward border line between being a child and an adult. You were mechanical even then. You watched him as he slept, that powerful boy, and you calculated. You planned on using him to go on a quest the moment you laid eyes on him and the cracked horn he held in his tiny fists. He was a red boy, you knew. He was not black and white like you and he wasn't blue like he would've liked. No, Percy Jackson’s color palette was always meant to be varying shades of red. Red, the color of passion and anger and emotion and it's just so undeniably beautiful. Red represents strength. Red represents vitality. Red represents power.

As you got older, you could see the dark blue-toned red (the color of blood) in his eyes grow more intense as he slew hundreds at a time, swinging his sword and slitting throats and hacking off heads until the decapitated bodies crumbled into gold dust. He burned like a hot iron and singed everyone and everything around him, including you. But your metallic body didn't mind being burned and red and white and black make a pretty color palette, honestly. His red was hot and your black and white were cool and together you reached that perfect equilibrium where neither of you were anything at all. And you were happy. The Stone Cold Girl was as giddy as a child on a spring day. The Robot would crack a smile. The Inhuman became mortal. And that made you happy(?).

Black and white don't do very well on their own. They have each other and they have grey, but it's not enough. Black and white are too dull, to bland to even matter by themselves. Black and white need other colors in their palette if they want to look pretty and be wanted. Red and black and white look nice together and your color palette was complete. And it then suddenly, wasn't. The red was ripped away, all those glorious shades from bright crimson to deep burgundy, all dripped through your cold fingers until there was nothing left but a faint stain and your black and white were left to their own boring devices once more.

* * *

**blue**

The blue girl hadn't been there for a long time and you admittedly thought very little of her in the beginning, as you did all of Aphrodite’s children. They all come in shades of pink and the occasional light purple and pink is just an abysmal color, in your opinion, because red is far too beautiful to be diluted by white. White takes away all its power, all its might. You prefer primary colors, primary people. People that only need themselves are your favorite kind. After all, you need people more than anything, and how are you supposed to rely on someone if they need someone to rely on, too?

But this girl, Drew, isn't pink or purple or even pastel yellow like her siblings. She comes in shades of blue, with no other color marking her pattern. She has a dark palette: Navy and Liberty and Catalina and Egyptian and Resolution and Midnight and Space Cadet and everything about her is blue. Percy would've wanted to be blue, but that's because he doesn't know what blue entails. It's a sad color, the color of hopelessness and despair. Blue is cold and unfeeling, not warm and full of energy like red. And Drew is cold and unfeeling, like blue. Like you.

When you first really see her you're playing Capture the Flag. Your team has an advantage—you—and you're beating your opponents into the cold dirt. Fine dust wafts up from the ground as feet shuffle and it blurs your vision, but your blunted dagger always hits its mark when you trust it forward. You don't use your real dagger for play, but the blunted iron one you had a Hephaestus kid make you works just as well at knocking someone down. A boy older than you with cropped blonde hair approaches you through the brown cloud. You swing your dagger and it stabs right under his arm. He cries out in pain and you have your opening. You slam the hilt straight at the center of his forehead and he crumbles. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see her. She never plays with the rest of the camp, but sometimes she sits by a tree and observes, like today. She's applying her red lipstick like any child of Aphrodite would, but now she pauses. She watches you. She's been watching you the whole time. Her dark eyes, lined with neon pink, stare at you in fear and something else. Wonder, maybe? No, that's not quite right. It's infatuation. It's curiosity and intrigue and wonder and lust. It's staring at you like it wants to swallow you whole. And it's blue.

* * *

**orange**

  
Robots do not cry, but you do. You hate crying; memories of a tall woman with long dark hair, screaming at you to just grow the fuck up, to get a spine, to stop being so weak and pathetic, you awful child, spring up whenever tears fall. Crying has never done anything for you except get you yelled at or slapped or worse, so you don't do it. But you're walking by the docks with your feet hanging over the edge and the cool water laps over your feet and the sky looks so blue and there's not a cloud dotting it and you think about that ugly blue cake and that underwater kiss and…

Suddenly you realize that actual tears are dripping down your cheekbones and under your chin. They're uncomfortably wet and the trails they leave start to itch, but you can't stop them from falling any more than you could stop Percy from disappearing. You were powerless then and you're powerless now, you weak, pathetic creature. He's been gone for months and you still have no lead. His mother calls you every day just to talk about him and lately you've been ignoring your phone, too overwhelmed to discuss him anymore. The morale among campers is low now that their shining star is gone. You're still there and that means something, but without Percy you've lost some of your power. Everyone's miserable without him and you're useless without him and there's nothing you can do about it but cry. So you do cry. You sit right on the edge of the water and you cry and cry and cry. _Pathetic._

“Are you ok?” you hear someone ask. The voice is a beautiful soprano with a high pitch and a clear tone, but it's uncertain. You turn your head around and your body burns with dread. It's _her_ , the blue girl from Capture the Flag. Drew Tanaka. She looks beautiful, of course. Her long black hair is pulled up into a high ponytail without a single flyaway hair sticking out. Her makeup is perfect: flawlessly applies pink eyeliner with soft blush and perfectly lined red lips. Her skin is clear and her figure is soft and pretty like yours never could be. She looks shocked, widening her eyes and giving her a doll-like expression. She's perfect, and meanwhile your face is probably red and your eyes are probably puffy and that makes you want to cry more. You usually don't care about your looks because you're a soldier, not a maiden. But being in front of someone so lovely while you're so vulnerable makes you self-conscious so you rub the tears off your face (this does not help).

“I’m fine,” you say. You don't think Drew is a genius, but you know she's smart enough to know that you're lying to her. She looks at you with a mix of pity and discomfort, but there's a touch of that look she gave you during Capture the Flag and you shudder.

“Can I do anything?” she asks. You’re surprised and you hope it doesn't show on your face. You don't know Drew personally but you know her by reputation. She's generally a hot topic, always pulling some underhanded stunt to draw more attention to herself. Everyone says that she's the meanest girl in camp, even Clarisse says so.

“No. It’s fine. I’m fine,” you say. You're lying. Drew’s a liar, so she's probably very good at knowing when people are lying to her. Or you're just bad at lying. Either way, the blue girl ignores your assurance and goes over to sit next to you. She's close enough for you to feel the body heat emanating from her and you can't deny that your head’s gone blank and you—yes, you, the brilliant Annabeth Chase—are suddenly devoid of all thought.

“Do you want to talk or…” Drew says, trailing off. Red colors her cheeks as she speaks and it occurs to you that she's nervous, which is a weird feeling to associate with Drew. People talk shit about her whenever they say her name, but they all agree that she's confident and charismatic despite her cruelty.

“It’s ok,” you say. Your nose starts to run and you wipe it with the back of your hand, hoping that a classy girl like Drew doesn't notice. “I know you’re not a fan of this kind of stuff.”

“No, it’s ok. Really. You can talk to me,” she says. A wave of warmth washes over you, like every good feeling you've ever felt has come back and multiplied, and you're suddenly ready to tell her your life story. You know logically that she's charmspeaking you, therefore manipulating you into opening up. But her voice is so soft and pretty and she really is gorgeous and isn't it good for the soul to talk about your problems or something? So you tell her about the one thing that's easy to talk about: Percy. You know she assumes that that's why you're crying, so she probably expects it. All your kisses and dates just pour out of your mouth as Drew listens intently. She's not judging you for being so hung up over your boyfriend, which is surprising and welcome. You tell her more and more until every memory you have of him spills out.

You don't tell her that you resent Percy, just a little bit. She didn't use enough charmspeak on you for you to tell her that much.

“Oh gods, I can’t believe I just told you all of that,” you say when you're done. Talking about your problems seems to have loosened your tongue and Drew looks a little hurt by your confession. You're immediately guilty and you scramble to make up some sort of excuse that won't offend her, because you can be a little mean sometimes but you're not cruel and you certainly don't want to hurt the feelings of a girl who so kindly listened to you complain about your boyfriend for gods know how long.

“No, I just mean that you’re kind of a gossip,” you say. Then you actually hear what you said and your hand covers your mouth. “Wait, no, that’s not what I meant. I just mean that I've heard you like to talk about pe—not that I've heard a lot about you and I'm that what I've heard isn't true because you don't seem like a bi—wait, no!” You're tripping over your own tongue and stuttering like you used to mean you were a child, but Drew suppresses any laughter she has.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she says. “I promise.” You don't feel the power of charmspeak and you search her face for any trace of malice, finding none in her shockingly sincere brown eyes. You don't trust easily, but you think you kind of like this girl. So you nod and stand. You offer her your hand and pull her up. Her hand is thinner and longer than yours is, delicate and elegant like those of a piano player or a harpist. Your hands are thick and hard with callouses, hands of someone who could kill. Drew couldn't hurt anyone with her pretty hands.

“Thank you, Drew,” you say, because you are thankful. Her eyes stare into yours and she smiles at you, showing small, sharp cat teeth.

(A bright dash of orange adds itself to Drew’s color palette. Warm orange, the balance between passionate red and soothing yellow with a touch of brown’s kindness. The kind of color that makes you feel safe and secure like nothing in that instant could ever hurt you.)

* * *

**yellow**

  
You can't ignore what Drew did for you, so you don't. You see her next when she's walking over to her pink, perfumed cabin and you wave to her.

“Drew!” you call out to her. A few of her siblings glance at her and then you and then back again before whispering among themselves. You don't know what sort of weird conclusion they'll jump to, but you don't care about it. Drew looks as startled as her siblings, but she quickly composes herself.

“What's up, hon?” she asks breezily, her voice high and almost nasal. You realize that she never once used her trademark hon during your conversation at the docks.

Your mind goes blank for a second because you knew you wanted to talk to her, but you didn't actually think about what you would say to her. You didn't really consider it when you approached her. That's unlike you. Black and white are consistent, reliable, thoughtful. You rush to come up with something, you've been staring at her vacantly for what seems like forever and you're starting to feel embarrassed. She looks back at you, unaffected.

“Some Apollo kids wanted my help to paint one of their cabin walls,” you tell her. “I'm no good at art but I've seen some of your paintings in the art room and they're really good, so can you help me?” This is partially true; a group of Apollo kids did ask you to help paint their cabin wall and you have seen Drew’s paintings in the art room before, they're as pretty as she is. You don't tell her that they wanted to paint the wall blue in honor of Percy’s memory or that you stiffly told them no and cried when you were alone because of it. She doesn't need to know all the details, you just need an excuse to talk to her.

Drew glances back at her siblings, some of them still looking at her and whispering and giggling, and she looks mildly conflicted. You know that you're considered a very popular girl, even if some of that popularity is because of your relationship with Percy, so she can't be conflicted out of risk of embarrassment. If anything, being seen with you would probably make her less hated. She's silent for a long time and you begin to wonder if her comforting you the other day was supposed to be a one time thing, but you're learning that Drew is good at surprising people.

“I'd love to,” she says. Her voice trembles as she speaks and it’s lower than usual, like she's nervous about going with you. But she follows, kitten heels clacking on the paved ground when she walks, when you go to the Apollo cabin. The Apollo kids are surprised to see you sand flat-out flabbergasted to see Drew, but they let you paint anyways. You and Drew barely speak to each other as your wet brushes cover the wood wall blue, but it's a comfortable silence and you don't mind it. You like watching her work; she looks so calm, like a pairing of a girl instead of a real one. She catches you staring and smiles at you with a sort of affection that you can't describe and the charm’s wound up.

(As she's painting, she turns yellow. Pastel, butter yellow. Serene and soft like a spring day.)

* * *

**green**

  
You're laying in the grass together. There's a hill just beyond the strawberry fields that faces the sun. Drew puts on sunscreen. You don't. Birds chirp. Tree nymphs laugh. A buzzing noise, like a creature in hiding, comes from the woods.

“You have a step-mother, right?”

“Yeah. We aren't close.”

“Oh. I had a step-mother, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I thought she was my real mom until…you know.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, that sucked. But I still love her. She's more of a mom to me than the literal goddess of love.”

“I never really had a mom. My step-mother was kind of awful and Athena and I can't really spend time together.”

“My mom—step-mom—used to call me her little dove. Guess she knew something I didn't back then.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Yes. I miss home. Camp isn't really the same.”

“Camp is the only home I have.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be, I like it here.”

“Of course you do. Everyone loves you.”

“Everyone loves Percy. I don't really know how they feel about me.”

“They do love you, Annabeth. You're stronger than all of us and everyone knows it. You're, like, the most popular girl here.”

“Maybe. I don't know, people just treat me differently now that he's gone. I feel like people see me as some sort of package deal, like I can't be anything in my own right. It's always Percy and Annabeth or it's just Percy. It's never just me, it's never me.”

“You're better than he is.”

Her hand links with yours. It tightens, gently but surely.

“I'm not sure about that.”

“I am.”

(Green. A vibrant green like grass coated with morning dew that catches the light in just the right way. Green: cool blue meets calm yellow and honestly what could be more pure? What could be more lovely than nature’s favorite color? The green complements the blue the best, but every color looks so pretty in their pattern and you could stare at it for hours, hours, hours.)

* * *

**violet**

You kiss her first, which surprises even you. You're in the strawberry fields when it happens. Drew’s been trying to show you how to be more girly since you started being friends, despite your very loud protests. She doesn't push you as much as you would've thought, but she insists on a red lipstick so you let her apply it for you. She takes you to the fields (her favorite place in camp, she says, because it's so quiet and the strawberries smell divine). You still don't care for makeup, but you're fond of the way Drew has to hold your face in her slim fingers and draw you closer to her so that she can carefully spread the red paste on your mouth. She stares at your lips with laser focus as she applies it. Her touch is cold but you bunch your fists in your lap because you suddenly feel yourself growing hot.

You're a smart girl. You know that what you're feeling. You're no stranger to attraction; Luke and Thalia and Percy were all proof of that. You know that tight, hot feeling in your stomach and the sensation of what you can only describe as acid pumping through your heart. It’s near-painful in intensity, although you would never admit this to yourself or anyone else. You don't know how deep your infatuation runs yet, so you've been suppressing it even though every smile and touch makes you feel faint. Besides, why would a gorgeous rainbow girl like Drew want a flat black and white creature like you? So you let her apply her lipstick (used lipstick that has touched her lips and is now touching yours) and you say nothing for now.

“Red is such a pretty color on you,” she says when she's done. “I don't know why you don't wear this shade all the time, Annabeth.”

“Because it's yours?”

“I can get you one,” Drew says. “I like it better on you though. It really goes well with your skin tone.” She hasn't let go of your face and she's still just inches away. She smells like cinnamon and nutmeg and other sweet things, as if she just came out of a kitchen after baking a spice cake. Her breath smells like peppermint Altoid mints and you can taste them when she speaks too close to your mouth. Your fists clench tighter until you're sure you're knuckles are white, but you're too focused on Drew to look down at them.

“Some eyeliner might be cute, too,” she continues. “It would really make the grey stand out.” Drew’s eyes aren't lined with pink today, but the brown is still captivating without it. Sunlight streams through nearby trees and the light hits Drew in just the right way so that her eyes glow. You can count at least five shades of brown, ranging from light tan to deep mahogany.

“Really?” you murmur, but you're barely paying attention to what she's saying.

“Yeah. You're lucky, though. You don't need foundation or concealer since your skin is so clear,” Drew says. Her voice shifts into a decrescendo, gradually getting softer and softer until you're the only one who would be able to hear her. “You have scars, but they're kind of nice. They give you an edgy look. Very stylish.”

“Thank you.” One of Drew’s fingers drifts over your bottom lip, so gentle that she probably didn't even smear the lipstick.

“You're really pretty, Annabeth,” Drew says. She speaks as if she's dreaming, breathy and low. Then she blinks and quickly jerks away from you, releasing your face.

“Thanks.”

Drew retains her composure quickly, but she's still blushing. Hers is a soft pink that spots her high cheekbones. If you were blushing, you'd be as red as the nearby strawberries. “No problem, hon,” she says. She rifles through her tiny and nearly non-functional purse and pulls out a pocket mirror to hand you. You take it and look at your reflection. Drew was right about red being a good color for you. You can't really describe the effect of the lipstick in any way other than adding a gentle glow. You're still not a fan of makeup, but you'll give Drew her small victory and admit that it does look nice.

“You got me,” you laugh. “I kind of like it.”

“I told you so,” Drew says, but she sounds anxious. She brushes some hair behind her ear and clenches her fist. “Red lipstick is iconic.”

You inch closer to her and rest a warm hand over her cold one. “Are you ok?”

Drew’s hand jerks but she doesn't move away. She does look away, though. You see a hand go up to her mouth and you assume she's biting her nails. “I'm fine.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe so,” she laughs, but there's no humor in it. You reach over to her and place a hand under her chin. You turn her head towards you so that you're facing each other. Her eyes are wide and you think you can see six more shades of brown. You think you like then without the pink more, but you'll never tell her.

You lean in. (You can see red in her eyes. It won't last long on its own, but for a split second you can see it. You're an inch away and her skin is cool under your touch but it's warming up and it's red like poppies.)

“Can I kiss you?” (You can see your familiar friend, blue. Her fists are still clenched because there's an unregarded visitor—Percy—and she knows he's there and that she can't ignore him forever. She's midnight and it hurts to look at but you know she's right.)

“Yes.” (You kiss her and the red mixes with the blue and she's floating on Cloud 9 in hell and she's passion and patience, recklessness and regret, wanting and worry. She's violet, purple like a bruise.)

* * *

**indigo**

  
You don't find Percy. You knew that you probably wouldn't, but the realization still hits you like a ton of bricks. Or, more accurately, a ton of gold bars. Gold like the color of the Jason boy’s hair, gold like his color palette. He's gold and sky blue and royal purple and burnt orange. It's a nice palette, but not the one you're looking for. He's so much like and unlike Percy that it hurts to look at him and you feel like punching and hugging him when you look into those blue, blue eyes. Hera must hate you even more than you thought to bait you like that.

You felt terrible after you woke up from Hera’s dream message. Not because you miss Percy—although you do, you’re bitter towards him but you don't hate your boyfriend—but because you were so happy when you got the message and guilt rolled over you in waves. You and Drew both knew that you would have to address the Percy issue eventually, but neither of you cared to discuss him while you were kissing or laughing or talking. You built your own little world together and for too long you mistook it for reality. But you couldn't pretend that the outside world didn't exist anymore and the realization tasted sour in your mouth. You're sure you scared the shit out of Jason with your bitterness.

And then there she was. She was outwardly beautiful and that's the second thing you noticed about her. You took in choppy brown hair and dark skin and eyes that shone with so many different colors that you felt light-headed just looking at them. But you grew up in a camp full of beautiful Aphrodite kids, so that barely affected you. No, the first thing you noticed about the girl was that she was red. Her palette was lined with shades of red and no other color. She was Candy Apple and Scarlet and Wine and Rose and Brick and Sangria and there was so much red that you wanted to cry because there's only one other color palette like that and you choked back a sob when you looked at her. Your black and white called out to her because rainbows are pretty but what goes better with black and white than a nice bright red?

Drew hates her instantly when you all arrive back at camp, which doesn't surprise you. She has her reputation to maintain and cruelty comes with that. You stopped minding a long time ago and she's been much nicer since you two became close. But whatever it is about this girl in red—Piper, she told you on the chariot—just seems to make Drew’s blood boil and bubble like she's being hung over a fire. She immediately attacks Piper; her hair is too choppy and her clothes are too ratty and her face may be perfect but fuck her anyways. Piper seems really nice ~~and she's got so many shades of red so much beautiful red she's everything you've been missing she's the red that will make your black and white beautiful again she's just like him and you want her because gods, now that you're thinking about it you really do miss the security that comes with red~~ so you defend her.

(She goes indigo, blue’s sadder sister. If blue is cold then indigo is ice. There's no positive spin on indigo. It's depression, it's pain, it's all your anguish and it's mixed with just enough desire to make you want and hope and that's even worse and Drew's palette is soaked with it because Drew's a lot of colors, but she's never been red.)

* * *

**clear**

  
You tell her that it's because you miss Percy. That's the easy explanation. You don't think it'd be appropriate or appreciated if you went into how quickly you attach yourself to certain people. It would feel pathetic, admitting that you're really not sure if you can last on your own. But you don't think it matters. She's not listening on purpose.

“I want us to be friends. Just friends,” you say.

“Were we ever really friends,” she says.

(She walks away. She's colorless now.)

(And in the end, you're still black and white.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, crying: annabeth chase has attachment issues and insecurities due to trauma and we need to discuss this
> 
> i did all of this on my phone and this is unbeta'd so let me know if there are any grammar or formatting mistakes please!

**Author's Note:**

> listen to me: annabeth/drew is some Good Shit


End file.
